


Welp

by pinkishbee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Tourette's Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 20:51:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkishbee/pseuds/pinkishbee
Summary: so I had this idea where Gavin has Tourette's and its short but i wanted to write it pls enjoy





	Welp

Shoulder leap. Head jerk. Today already seems like an active day. I can’t stay still or silent, tapping my foot or humming in between louder and more distracting tics. Anxiety meds help, but they make me insanely tired, so all I can do is stay in a relaxing environment. Everyone seems okay with keeping the peace and dealing with my automatic, semi-automatic and purposeful outbursts. Except Fowler. After Connor came along he’s been a little obsessed with upgrading. It was small things first...Well, it always was small things. But now? Now he’s trying to shove an android down my throat.

“I’m trying to improve your work ethic. It doesn’t have to go home with you like Connor with Hank, okay?” Fowler explains.

“I don’t want it at all.”

“Don’t be difficult,” he says, as if he doesn’t know I’m the definition of difficult. “It’s just to take some of the load off your back. There’s still a lot of deviant cases-”

“And I can handle each and every one of them!” I yell, my hands throwing themselves on his desk. I notice him fight back a glare.

“It’s helping you regardless. Hank warmed up to Connor, so why can’t you to Richard?”

“ _Richard?_ ” I drawl. “So he’s a dick.”

“Gavin,” he warns. I roll my eyes and blink hard. Maybe he’ll mistake the eye roll for a tic.

We glare silently for a very long moment. I suppress the need to move to prove a point. I don’t need it. I don’t need to move. I don’t need the android. I don’t need help. My shoulder jumps to my ear and I can’t stay still anymore. I have tap my foot.

Fowler leans back in his chair and softens his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Asshole!” I shout, then compose myself, pretending I didn’t say anything. “I’m fine.”

“Why don’t you just take a look at it? It’s in the charging station, tall. You won’t miss it.”

“Fine.” Anything to get me out of his sight.

The charging station was implemented a few years back for anyone who brought their toys to work. No one really does, so it's been unused for a while. Sometimes Connor stays in there for a bit, but not often. It's a creepy place to be.

I open the door and step in. There's 12 slots. “Richard” is in the very back. I keep at least two feet of distance between us. He looks down at me. He's fucking huge.

“Hello, Detective Reed,” he drones. Creep.

“Alright, I think I'm done here,” I say and start to leave. Heavy footsteps follow behind me.

I turn and look up. “Is there a problem, Detective?”

“Yes.”

He stops me before I move closer to the door. “Is it something I can help you with?”

“Leave me alone,” I mutter, speeding out the door and back into the office where there’s real people.

Of course, the damn thing follows behind me, and I can hear his heavy footsteps. I leave a trail of twitches behind, unable to contain an awkward shout that gains a few glances from my coworkers. We already talked about it-- they’re not trying to be mean, they just get worried. I still feel judged.

I shove my face in my phone as soon as I sit down. _Just go away._ I feel him looming over me from behind.

“Detecti-”

“Back off!”

“Captain Fowler asked that I assist you with the deviant cases. I believe it would be in your best interest to let me help,” the android explains.

“ _Believe?_ You don’t _believe_ shit.”

He’s silent for a second too long, processing, _plotting_ , probably. “Captain Fowler said himself it was part of your job to get along with me, otherwise you’d be removed from the case.”

I swear I hear him think to himself, “Checkmate.” But he can think that all he wants. I'm not getting removed from this case and I most certainly am not getting along with a fucking Barbie doll.

“Make. Me. Coffee,” I say nice and slow so his thick head will register it.

He simply walks off, just like that. Maybe I can keep him occupied and away from me. I stretch back, pleased that he's gone, and busy myself with work.


End file.
